


Hookblade

by Espereth



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Community: asscreedkinkmeme, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 16:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaïr makes a hookblade so that Malik can climb again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hookblade

"This? This is - it is for you," Altaïr said hesitantly, looking up from his desk in the lamplight. 

Malik's eyebrows rose before he could suppress his surprise. "For - me?"

"I wasn't sure whether to tell you about it yet. I'm still revising the designs." He tidied the papers on his desk, tucking away sketches and measurements until only the hookblade he had been building was left to view. 

Lifting the device, Malik examined Altaïr's work, all fine leather and polished steel. It was still too heavy, Altaïr knew. He needed to find a way to retain the strength of the build while losing some of its weight. 

Altaïr waited, barely breathing, while Malik turned the device this way and that, inspecting the strong but delicate components of the mechanism that let the hook slide out of its socket. Having recovered quickly from his initial astonishment, Malik's face now showed nothing. Would Malik be angry at his presumption? Would he sneer at Altaïr's intentions, dismiss them as fruitless attempt at easing his own guilt?

But in Malik's dark eyes there was nothing but curiosity, and Altaïr dared to risk the next step. 

"Malik. Would you let me -?" He held out a hand for the device, nodded at Malik's left shoulder.

After a long pause, Malik nodded assent and sat in Altaïr's offered chair. He pulled his robes down to bare his shoulder and the stump of his arm, and permitted Altaïr to attach the device.

First came a light strip of gauze, to protect the skin from the scratching of stitches and leather. Altaïr bound Malik's shoulder firmly, trying not to think about the hard warmth under his fingertips, and the smell of Malik's skin. For his part, Malik looked straight ahead, at the diffuse glow of dusk outside the window.

Several minutes of adjustments, tightened straps and laces saw the contraption attached securely to Malik's left shoulder. 

Malik stood, adjusting his clothes. Altaïr knew better than to offer help with that, although the bulk of the hook mechanism made it awkward. 

Altaïr stayed silent as Malik walked a few paces, shrugged his shoulders, feeling the device's solid weight on his body. Moving, shifting, testing. 

"Drop your shoulder," Altaïr ventured cautiously. "Like this." He demonstrated the sharp motion that would release the hook.

For a time, Malik ignored the instruction, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. Altaïr said nothing, and eventually, Malik tried the motion. The finely wrought mechanism clicked softly, and the metal hook slid out of its sheath. _Too loud_ , Altaïr knew. It needed much refinement.

"The edge is sharp," Altaïr said. "It is a weapon, as well as an aid for climbing."

Malik ran light fingers across the silver gleam of the steel without comment. Then he turned to look at Altaïr, his eyes dark with some deep but suppressed emotion that Altaïr could not read.

"Have you tried it, Brother?" Malik said.

 _Brother_. The word sounded rusty in Malik's throat, as though something in him still hesitated when he said it. 

"I have tried one of my own. But this I built for you. The length and weight are different," Altaïr explained.

"I want to try it," Malik said with sudden intensity.

"Now? It's dark out."

"There's enough moon." He was already walking to the stairs.

***

There was enough moon - barely. Altaïr was glad of the dark. They were alone, and he suspected Malik was glad of that. His friend was proud - he wouldn't let novices see him doing this. They stood at the foot of the watchtower. Altaïr didn't like to think about how long it had been since Malik had last climbed it.

Malik ran lightly up the big stone slab at the base of the tower. His right hand found a handhold, he then swung the hookblade in a tight arc, fast enough to let the mechanism release, and the hook flew out to grip stone. A spark arced into the night and was gone. 

He gripped with his right hand, pulled himself up with the hookblade and released it to swing again. This time the blade rang on stone without purchase, and Malik dropped back to the ground, landing with sure feet.

He tried again, and again, each time drawing himself higher. Once or twice came an awkward scramble as the hook scraped on stone or lost its hold, but Malik learned fast. Altaïr watched him as the hookblade began to seem like part of his body. Malik was determined to get to the top of the watchtower, however long it took. Then at last, he was there - Altaïr just behind him.

Malik turned to Altaïr, a fierce grin on his face and Altaïr was stunned. A smile from Malik was rare enough; a grin like that unbelievable. Breathless and flushed, eyes reflecting the moonlight, he could have been a boy again - strong and lithe, muscles as hard as tarred rope, eyes full of the promise of youth.

"It works," Malik said, rolling onto his back as he gained the top of the tower. He was shaking from exertion, sweat on his temples, dampening his dark hair.

Altaïr came up after him, trying not to show how effortless it was for him and they sat in silence under the moon. Malik's sweat cooled in the free breeze and made him shiver, but he didn't seem to care. He gave no thanks for Altaïr's gift, but he didn't need to - that boyhood grin, still lighting his face, was more thanks than Altaïr could ever have dreamed of.

**Author's Note:**

> For the Assassin's Creed KinkMeme: http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1795.html?thread=10304515#cmt10304515


End file.
